These
were the property of the knights then held in durance by Sir Tarquin.
Below them all hung a copper basin, on which was carved in Latin the
following inscription, translated thus--
"Who valueth not his life a whit,
Let him this magic basin hit."
This so enraged Sir Lancelot that he drove at the vessel violently with
his spear, piercing it through and through, so vigorous was the assault.
The clangour was loud, and anxiously did the knight await for some reply
to his summons. Yet there was no answer, nor was there any stir about
the walls or outworks. It seemed as though Sir Tarquin was his own
castellan, skulking here alone, like the cunning spider watching for his
prey.
Silence, with her vast and unmoving wings, appeared to brood over the
place; and echo, that gave back their summons from the walls, seemed to
labour for utterance through the void by which they were encompassed. A
stillness so appalling might needs discourage the hot and fiery purpose
of Sir Lancelot, who, unused but to the rude clash of arms, and the
melee of the battle, did marvel exceedingly at this forbearance of the
enemy.
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